


(Including but Not Limited to) Prometheus Unbound

by PadawanRyan



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Stargate Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Porn, Deception, Enemies to Lovers, Episode: s08e12 Prometheus Unbound, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Violence, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28787817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadawanRyan/pseuds/PadawanRyan
Summary: Patrick was finally on his way to Atlantis. This was the moment that his entire career was leading up to, even if for a rescue mission. He could probably die happy after this trip.Until he awakes to find the crew gone and himself bound to a chair. At least his abductor is hot.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	(Including but Not Limited to) Prometheus Unbound

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow, holy fuck. I did not expect to spend about 3 days writing this—or writing this _at all_ , to be fair. Some context first: Stargate is one of my favourite franchises (except Stargate Universe, let's pretend that doesn't exist). I have 2 Stargate tattoos, one which I consider to represent SG-1 and the other I consider to represent Atlantis.
> 
> Anyway, while binging the show for the gazillionth time recently, I noted in season 9 that the banter between [Daniel](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Daniel_Jackson) and [Vala](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Vala_Mal_Doran) was very reminiscent to the banter we, as a fandom, often writer between Pete and Patrick—Vala as Pete and Daniel as Patrick. Suddenly, the idea came to me: I should write a Stargate AU. I decided to write the first episode where Vala appears ([Prometheus Unbound](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Prometheus_Unbound)) for a number of reasons, but most specifically because I wanted to leave the opportunity open—if I felt inspired to write _more_ Stargate AU in the future (god knows I didn't plan the [Quarantine 'Verse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720804) to be a series after a single oneshot), then I could continue from there. Readers would already have the context as to how they know each other.
> 
> Also, there's a scene in that episode where I could easily slot in an off-script sex scene. Spoilers: there's sex.
> 
> I also recognize that many readers may not have seen the show before. This fic _can_ be read without having that context. However, since there are a few terms that might confuse you - such as the names of alien races and technology - I have included a minor glossary in the end notes. Zip down there before you read, and we should be good to go!

When Patrick awoke, he was disoriented. He couldn’t remember having passed out in the first place, but as light began to return to his vision, it became obvious that _something_ had happened. _Zatted_ , he thought. He must have been hit with a zat gun.

The next thing he noticed was that he wasn’t wearing his glasses. The blurriness as he regained his vision was unrelenting.

And the third thing he noticed was—

 _Bound_.

He was bound. His wrists and ankles were bound to…the command chair? What was he doing in the command chair?

And where was everyone else?

The entire crew appeared to be gone. Something must have happened when he was unconscious. There was no way that an entire battlecruiser crew would disappear like that. Had they been attacked? Whoever – or _whatever_ – had tied him to the chair must have done something with the rest of the crew. It must have been a powerful force in order to dispose of so many people like that, because surely someone would have fought back. Many someones. The United States Air Force was not known for taking things lying down. Was the crew still alive? Oh, Patrick hoped the crew was alright.

But that begged another question: why was _Patrick_ spared?

He looked around the room, trying to think of _anything_ that could help him determine what had happened and what to do. If this hadn’t been such a terrifying situation, he thought that perhaps he wouldn’t mind being tied to the control chair…

No, he couldn’t think that. Not right now. Not when he needed to free himself from his bonds and find out what happened to his crew.

Suddenly, something caught his eye.

Or _someone_.

It was…a soldier?

That looked like Kull armour on the figure facing away from Patrick, bent over the controls. Was this the person who tied him to the chair? It had to have been. He didn’t see anyone else, but that didn’t mean that there was nobody else lurking around the ship. For all he knew, there was an entire army of Kull soldiers outside the bridge. But Patrick couldn’t just sit there and do nothing, so—

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked loudly in the direction of the soldier. It didn’t acknowledge him. “Guess it’s just you and me, huh?”

Still no answer.

“It’s a little strange, isn’t it?” His memory was coming back to him. He vaguely remembered having encountered the soldier, shooting at it, and then…nothing. “You see,” he continued as the images began to flood his mind, “that weapon I shot you with should have killed you. And what’s even stranger is that you guys don’t usually take prisoners, either. I mean, it’s usually kinda,” he would gesture with his hands here if he was free, but it’s not like the soldier could see him anyway, “kill first and…well, that’s about it. Just the killing.”

Not even a twitch in his direction. Really? Patrick was feeling less anxious and more offended with each passing moment.

“I’m just gonna talk to myself for a while then,” he muttered. “’Cause you’re sure not gonna talk to me. Not that you guys _are_ very talkative, I suppose, but—” He snapped his mouth shut when the soldier finally turned around to face him.

“You may prove useful,” the soldier informed him in the robot voice of the Kull armour.

Patrick’s eyebrows shot up.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” he commented aloud. What was he supposed to do now that the thing was acknowledging him? Oh, wait—the crew. He should ask it about the crew. “Where’s everybody else?”

“I transported them to the Al’kesh,” it responded in the same robotic voice. Figures. And it kept _Patrick?_

“Well, you kept the wrong guy,” he couldn’t help saying. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? “’Cause I don’t know anything about the ship.”

The Kull soldier approached him. Oh god, this was it.

Instead—

“But you are very attractive,” it said.

Wait, _what?_

Patrick choked in shock. Maybe this _was_ a sexual thing. Maybe he really was bound to the chair because someone – or _something_ – was going to have their way with him and he was not going to have any say about it. It should have been wrong that that turned him on a little bit. Patrick did not want to get fucked by a Kull soldier. That was…that was not part of his plan for this mission, or like, _ever_. And yet his cock was already half hard. It was a good thing his pants were roomy enough to hide the betrayal of his body from the soldier.

The soldier continued to approach. Patrick began to panic.

“Hey, you know, big guy, I’m flattered, I really am,” he stuttered out in a nervous babble. “It’s just that, uh, you’re not my type.” He couldn’t help but mutter next, “And I’m a little disturbed that I might be yours…”

It stops in front of him. It reaches up and begins to remove its helmet. Patrick could vaguely hear himself making vocal protests, but then—

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Holy fuck, the guy underneath the armour was definitely not Kull. “Don’t worry,” the _absolutely fucking gorgeous guy_ with beautiful, honey-coloured eyes and sweaty black side bangs, began. “I’m not gonna hurt you…”

“Oh, thank god,” Patrick breathed out.

The guy smirked at him.

“…Much.”

Patrick could only watch as the man continued to remove his armour. In the armour, he appeared to be a tall, powerful soldier. Of course, Patrick couldn’t prove that this guy _wasn’t_ a powerful soldier of some sort, but he certainly wasn’t Kull and he certainly wasn’t _tall_. If anything, he could only have been a few inches taller than Patrick, but it was hard to tell as he remained bound to the chair. The guy’s stature wasn’t what Patrick was focused on, anyway—it was the way that the thin, black catsuit underneath _clung_ to every curve of his body.

Oh, he _wanted_. Patrick sent another silent “thanks” to the roominess of his pants for continuing to hide the little – er, not so little – situation that was still _growing_ down there.

He was snapped out his thoughts when the guy told him, “I wish to send a long-range transmission using the communication system.”

“Sorry, don’t have a clue.”

The guy narrowed his eyes at Patrick. “You lie.”

As the man leaned in closer, Patrick found himself becoming nervous again. He knew nothing about this man who would potentially be seriously _dangerous_. On the opposite side of that spectrum, the man could want something that Patrick was unwilling to give—or that Patrick _was_ willing to give, which scared him more than the unwilling part.

This entire situation was causing his body and mind to contradict one another and Patrick wasn’t quite sure what else he could do besides babble.

“In general? No. Yes. Well, I try to be honest, but occasionally a little white one slips out every—”

A hand connected with his face.

Fucking _ow_.

He vocalized that thought with a quick, insulted, “Ow!” to which the guy smirked again and asked, “Would you like me to kiss it better?”

“Um, no,” Patrick responded, despite that his twitching cock _clearly_ disagreed. “Just don’t do it again.” Another comment to which his body acted in rebellion. Thank god the other guy couldn’t see it. “Hey look,” he added, because he apparently just couldn’t fucking _stop_ , “even if I knew what it is you wanted me to do, what makes you think I’d tell you? And furthermore, how the hell do you think you can steal a ship without even knowing how it works?”

Maybe that last bit was a little too far. But the guy just shrugged and said, “I got the sublight engines going.”

“Yeah,” Patrick conceded. “So you did.”

“You really expect me to believe you don’t know how your own ship works?”

Patrick bit back a groan.

“Okay, look,” he began again, “my name is Patrick Stump. I’m an archaeologist—an historian. I study ancient cultures, histories of the past, ancient civilizations. Have you heard of Earth at all?” Wait, maybe the guy wouldn’t know the name Earth. “Tau’ri?” he specified.

The guy took a seat in the chair beside Patrick’s and responded with a simple, “Nope.”

Figures. He would have to explain _everything_ , wouldn’t he? “Okay, well, we were on our way to rescue our friends who are trapped—”

“Oh, I don’t care,” the guy said flippantly.

Well, that was rude.

“Look,” he attempted to reason, “this isn’t really necessary—”

He was cut off again. The guy, who was now starting to look a little frustrated with Patrick, raised his hands and positioned them as though they were two heads talking to one another. “Can I have this ship?” he made one ask to the other. The response from the other hand was a simple, “No,” to which the original hand confirmed, “Okay.” His honey-coloured eyes turned back to Patrick, and _god_ , Patrick wished the man wasn’t so fucking hot. This would be so much easier if Patrick didn’t want that mouth to do obscene things to him.

But the only thing that the man’s mouth did was form the words, “Discussion over.”

The statement was followed by a slamming of his hands down on the console in front of him. Patrick winced – this was an expensive battlecruiser to build – but he heard a series of beeps and the guy made an affirmative sound. “Oh, here we go.”

He must have gotten the communication systems up and running.

Rats.

“Gabe of Oran,” the man said with a certain confidence, in an almost demanding tone, as he activated the communications. “Gabe, this is Pete.” Okay, at least Patrick now had a name: Pete. It both suited and didn’t suit him at the same time. “If you can hear me, please respond.” The guy paused another moment for a response that didn’t come. “I’ve managed to procure vessel, bigger and better than what we hoped for.” Did Patrick even want to know? “Gabe, if you get this message, I apologize for the delay and will meet at the designated coordinates in one day. Pete out.”

Patrick let out an audible sigh. Pete paid no notice to him, so he began to fidget with his bonds. He had to have _something_ sharp on him—ah, yes.

There _was_ something.

So, this is how it went for the next hour or so. Pete worked quietly at the console, barely making a sound – Patrick got the impression that this was Pete at _work_ and not his everyday Pete, though it’s not like he knew the guy to know what an “everyday Pete” would be – while Patrick rubbed his bonds against the _something sharp_. Look, he wasn’t sure what it actually was. He could barely look down at it without catching Pete’s attention, could he? But he knew it was sharp and, better yet, that it was working.

But then—

“Access restricted by a code.” Pete went quiet again and waited. Oh, right. He expected Patrick to have all the answers.

And Patrick was just exasperated.

“Yeah, too bad.”

Too late, he noticed that Pete was still wearing some sort of weapon on his arm. The blast came before Patrick could register exactly what Pete was doing – the guy wasn’t even looking at him, the least he could do was turn and face him – but _motherfucker_ , that hurt. Patrick couldn’t hold back a hiss and cry at that.

That did catch Pete’s attention and the guy swiveled to meet Patrick’s gaze. God, but _those eyes_. “That hurts?” he asked.

“Um, yeah!”

“I can fix it,” Pete told him. Patrick wasn’t quite sure he believed him.

The other man held up a little device in his hand with an expectant look on his face. Patrick was already feeling _done_ and over it. Voice raised slightly, he bit out, “I don’t know the code!”

But Pete didn’t just sit there and dangle it in Patrick’s face as he almost expected. Instead, the guy rose to his feet and took the couple steps necessary to reach Patrick before sitting on the console beside him. Leaning in close, Pete held the device over the wound and activated it. Oh, god. Patrick _knew_ that device. This honey-eyed Adonis was a Goa’uld. Why did these things always happen to him?

At least the pain was fading.

“There,” Pete said softly. Patrick didn’t realize how close the other man’s face was to his until that moment. “Feel better?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stated, “You’re a Goa’uld.”

“No.”

Oh. Then how was Pete able to—

“But I was host to one.”

“Which would explain the naquadah in your blood that allows you to use Goa’uld technology,” Patrick continued aloud even though Pete probably didn’t need the explanation—he knew what he was, what he had been.

Pete nodded. “And how I can quickly learn how to fly this fairly primitive ship.”

“Yeah, so primitive,” Patrick muttered, rolling his eyes. “One would wonder if it’s even worth the bother.”

“Well, in this case it’s the size that counts.”

Pete looked down. It dawned on Patrick that perhaps his pants weren’t as roomy as he thought, or maybe what was happening inside them was further along than he realized, because the other man smirked yet again.

“Actually,” he began, an impressed tone in his voice that made Patrick flush furiously, “in pretty much _all_ cases.”

Patrick barely held back a look of amazement when Pete looked back down and very clearly took in Patrick’s entire body—he probably failed at holding it back, actually. He wasn’t sure whether it was a _good_ amazement or bad amazement – was there a such thing as bad amazement, or was that just being appalled? – but he almost lost all concept of reality when Pete’s finger extended to the hole in his shirt and stroked over the healed wound. “Tell me the code,” Pete pleaded softly enough that Patrick very nearly gave in. “Please.”

But Patrick was made of stronger stuff than he looked. He looked directly into Pete’s eyes, lifting from Patrick’s body to his face, and told him resolutely, “No.”

Pete huffed. “Fine,” he responded, climbing off the command chair and Patrick.

He was left alone, still bound to the chair, as Pete turned on his heel and strolled off to the bridge and out the corridor.

This gave Patrick the perfect opportunity to return to the sharp object on the chair and continue attempting to free himself. Without Pete sitting right beside him, he didn’t have to worry about being subtle—surely the man had better things to do than watch Patrick on the security feed. He just hoped that whatever Pete was doing elsewhere on the ship would take a while, because it was very clear that breaking these bonds would be a timely enterprise.

There was a close call as Pete returned to the bridge, but the other guy did not even glance in Patrick’s direction as he turned his focus to the hyperdrive control console. Somehow, Patrick _finally_ managed to free one hand.

And one hand was all he needed.

He heard Pete hum happily and comment, “Much better,” as he continued watching the hyperdrive control console, oblivious to the fact that Patrick already had both arms free and was unfastening the bonds around his ankles. Making an incredible effort to remain as quiet as possible, Patrick stood from the chair and searched for the nearest weapon.

Pete was still facing the console when Patrick snuck up behind him with a zat gun pointed at the man’s head. “Drop the weapon and step away from the console,” he demanded.

“I liked you better tied up,” the other guy mumbled.

That went straight to Patrick’s cock.

 _Motherfucker_.

“Against the wall,” Patrick said, attempting to ignore the reignited situation in his pants, though that was difficult considering the perfect curves of the man’s backside right before him. “And again, lose the weapon.”

“This suit still absorbs zat blasts,” Pete informed him as he, to his credit, did unfasten the weapon from his arm and drop it to the floor.

“Then cover your head.”

Patrick wouldn’t be baited. However, it didn’t appear that Pete got that memo.

“So, you should probably just let me take it off.”

God, he wanted. If it was any other sort of situation and Patrick had been there willingly, had not been bound without his consent and essentially _kidnapped_ , he would take it off Pete himself. He would push the man up against the wall and feel his every curve, maybe even tie _Pete_ to the chair this time, but he couldn’t let himself become distracted. His crew was gone and his ship was on its way to God knows where, and Patrick…well, Patrick was going to have to save the day. And he couldn’t exactly do that with his pants around his ankles, no matter delicious an image that presented.

So, he went with, “I think I’ll turn the ship around first.”

Patrick was unsurprised, but admittedly not unaffected, when Pete retorted, “I don’t know, if I had me at gun point that wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“Yeah, well…”

As Pete stood against the wall, Patrick trusted that he would remain, if only for a second long enough that he could regain control of the ship. He stepped toward the nearest console and attempted to enter his own security code – why had they trusted _him_ with a security code? – only to find that it was rejected. “What’s going on?” he asked to both himself and his companion.

“Oh, I rewrote the access codes,” Pete explained, “so I’m the only one who can use the navigation systems.”

“Undo it.”

Pete began to look distraught. It almost caught Patrick off guard, but he wouldn’t let himself be swayed. “Listen, hundreds of lives are at stake!” the man exclaimed. “I’m trying to save the last of my people, and this ship is their only hope.”

Okay, maybe he _would_ let himself be swayed. “Maybe if you mentioned that from _the beginning_ —”

“Would you really have helped?”

He could tell from Pete’s tone that it wasn’t a genuine question, he was not expecting Patrick to answer. No, it was rhetorical—Pete was skeptical.

Well, Patrick supposed he couldn't blame him.

“Look, as I tried to explain before I was _so rudely_ interrupted, we were _also_ on a rescue mission.”

Any response Pete might have given went unspoken as both men were distracted by a beeping sound coming from the console. Pete asked, “What is it?” as Patrick turned toward the console to see what was wrong. He found himself brightening when he saw what the beeping was about. “A ship just appeared on our radar. An Al’kesh.” It was his crew, Patrick was certain of that—they had managed to catch up to Prometheus. He wondered whether they knew Patrick was still alive or if _the ship_ was their priority.

And of course Pete would be there to shatter his hope. “This quadrant is crawling with Goa’uld vessels,” the other man insisted. “Chances are it’s not your friends. I made sure that ship was fully disabled when you showed up.”

But Patrick refused to give up. “We’ll see,” he said as he began typing into the console.

Pete was just as likely to give up. He sounded almost _nervous_ as he continued to insist, “We have to raise shields and arm weapons!”

“I’m gonna try to hail them first.”

He turned to make his way toward the command chair when suddenly a foot came into contact with his hand and the zat gun was flung across the bridge, clattering to the floor. Patrick didn’t have the chance to check where the zat had ended up because he felt another slap across the face. He faltered and stepped back a moment, which gave Pete another advantage. The slightly taller man already had his arm raised to swing again, but Patrick managed to raise his own arm in defense _just_ in time to stop him. Pete was clearly not expecting Patrick to have any sort of combat skills – not that he had _many_ , but he had been doing this a long time – and that gave _Patrick_ the advantage this time.

He backed his elbow into Pete’s face and watched as the guy immediately cupped his nose. “Ohhh,” the other man groaned in pain. “You hit me!”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “And _you_ hit _me_.”

“Yeah, you know we could just have sex instead,” Pete suggested without removing his hands from his face.

And—

Fuck.

Patrick’s cock jumped at the suggestion. Why was he so hard?

Pete was so fucking attractive, even doubled over in pain, and Patrick almost wanted to just reach out and touch him—not hurt him, but in a more tender, intimate manner. The thought distracted him long enough for Pete to pull the same move Patrick pulled on him and lift his elbow right into the slightly shorter man’s scruffy face. Patrick stumbled backward, but not before Pete’s leg swung around and catapulted him about a metre. He hit the ground hard and Pete followed, grabbing him by the head to drag him back up to his feet.

Reaching up to mirror Pete’s position, he grabbed the guy’s beautiful black hair and spun him around, both grunting wildly as they moved. It didn’t escape Patrick’s notice as he shoved Pete into the wall that he could, if he wanted, yank the other man’s face to his and close the gap between him. He didn’t, but that didn’t stop his cock from aching with want.

 _Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts_.

Patrick drew his arm back to deck Pete in the face, but his reflexes were good. Pete ducked, and Patrick’s hand connected with the wall behind him.

He cradled his hand with his uninjured one and didn’t notice Pete on the ground below, until—

Motherfucking _hell_.

 _Ow_.

Patrick didn’t need to look down to know that he had just been accosted with a fire extinguisher _right to the dick_ , which was _especially_ painful considering how fucking hard he was. He doubled over while groaning in pain. While Patrick was bent over, Pete’s knee collided with his face. He flew backward into a console, grabbing onto it to steady himself.

Eyesight blurry – and not just because he was missing his glasses, though Patrick was surprised he’d been able to see or _read_ anything without them – he didn’t see Pete’s fist coming again until it was too late.

He flipped right over the console and landed hard on the floor. Yet again.

Patrick was starting to feel sore.

_Starting?_

He was aching, and not in a good way. Actually, he was aching in _both_ ways, but the pain far overrode the pleasure.

After laying on the floor a moment – god, this was fucking _exhausting_ – he knew that he couldn’t stay there forever. Patrick rolled over onto his stomach and pushed up on his hands and knees to crawl, since he was still too sore to stand. However, he noticed Pete’s feet approaching him, and immediately made an attempt to turn and crawl in the opposite direction. Pete was too fast for him—he jumped on Patrick and tried to squeeze his head with his thighs.

His head was in between Pete’s thighs. He tried not to think too much about that.

Patrick used all of his lower body strength to push up onto his feet and stand, the heavy (albeit small) guy still on his shoulders. He could tell when the other man grabbed onto a beam above him, and that gave Patrick the chance to push Pete’s legs apart and squeeze out from under him. He had only just stepped back when Pete’s foot collided with his face – why always his _face?_ – and Patrick was _yet-a-fucking-again_ laying on the floor. Pete jumped down from the beam and instantly launched himself onto Patrick.

Leaning in close to Patrick’s poor, battered face, Pete asked, almost out of breath, “Are we done yet?”

“I am,” Patrick responded, barely audible.

Pete pulled Patrick into a sitting position from the hem of his shirt and suddenly, he realized exactly how close they were. He was sitting there on the floor with Pete _in his lap_ and fuck, if Pete didn’t feel Patrick’s cock twitch beneath him, it would be a miracle.

Patrick assumed that Pete must have felt it, because the guy’s face broke out into a small, sweet smile as he stroked Patrick’s scratched cheek.

It should have been surprising when Pete closed the gap between them.

It should have been.

But—

God, _that mouth_. Oh, holy fuck, Patrick was in _heaven_.

Pete gave him several quick kisses, not really pushing too far beyond seeing whether Patrick would respond. For the first few, Patrick was caught off guard by _how fucking good it felt_ and just let it happen. But finally, he managed to kiss back. He heard the other man moan beneath his lips—Patrick’s cock twitched yet again, which caused Pete to shift in his lap.

It was another moment before Patrick came to his senses.

He pulled away from Pete abruptly. “You’re a fruitcake!” he exclaimed. The other man grinned at him as though that was a _compliment_ before headbutting him, and Patrick collapsed back on the floor in a daze.

This should have been it. This should have been the moment where Pete stood up and walked away, assuming Patrick unconscious.

But Pete was not your stereotypical television guest star. He _did_ stand, but only momentarily. Crouching down over Patrick’s legs, he reached for the scruffy man’s belt and began removing his pants.

Still dazed, Patrick couldn’t even lift his head to see what was happening below.

But when—

 _Oh fuck_.

That was Pete’s mouth.

Pete’s gorgeous fucking mouth that had already taken Patrick’s breath away.

And what _gorgeous fucking_ that mouth was doing as it took the head of his cock between the lips, Pete’s tongue twitching beneath it. He was so good, _so good_ —Patrick truly _was_ in heaven. Maybe this entire thing was a dream. Maybe he was laying asleep in his quarters on the ship while the crew continued to fly toward Atlantis, and this was just an incredible sexual fantasy that his unconscious mind dreamed up. He wasn’t sure he could dream up someone as physically _perfect_ as Pete, but the mind knew what it wanted.

Reasonably, he knew that this wasn’t a dream. He was too beaten and sore to have fantasized this. Plus, that sort of thing didn’t usually get him off. That was the key word, though: _usually_.

He could feel the other man take his cock deep into his throat and moan around it. He let out his own moan, but his throat was hoarse.

The black-haired Adonis kept bobbing his head up and down, slowly torturing Patrick with his mouth. They should not be doing this, Patrick knew that much. He didn’t have time for this and he didn’t even know Pete, but as the man’s mouth met Patrick’s pubic hair, the entire length of his cock between those hallowed cheeks, he couldn’t find a single reason to protest.

He was close. He was very close.

But when Pete pulled back, a trail of saliva mixed with precum dripping from his wet, swollen lips, Patrick whined. That whine was surely loud enough for Pete to hear, hoarse throat or not.

Patrick was just trying to find the energy to lift his head and ask, “What the fuck?” when he heard Pete fidgeting.

It was only a moment before pressure returned to his cock. But this pressure…

This was _not_ a mouth.

This felt like…

Patrick could have cried out, had he the voice for it, when Pete’s tight ass slowly impaled itself on his cock. Patrick was unsure of how much time had been passing between every action, but he was certain that the guy couldn’t have prepared himself in the matter of moments before replacing his hot mouth with an even tighter, hotter hole. Did he just come _already prepared?_ Or did he—

That thought was immediately cut off when Pete bottomed out and let out a loud, wanton moan as though Patrick’s cock was the object of his dreams.

He still couldn’t find the energy to move, but that didn’t stop Pete, who lifted himself up off Patrick’s cock again before slamming right back down again. Oh, if only Patrick could lift his arms and hold Pete’s hips and keep him there. It was too much, too fast.

There was no way he was going to last.

Pete only managed to impale himself on Patrick’s cock another two times before Patrick was bursting, unable to hold back.

But Pete kept fucking him through it, bouncing up and down with what seemed like no effort.

Those thigh muscles…

God.

Patrick almost felt like he blacked out as soon as he finished emptying himself inside of Pete, having been drained of all the energy he had left. Maybe all those nineteenth century purists were right and semen really _was_ the life fluid, that draining it caused insanity, because Patrick surely had to be insane not to immediately throw Pete off him and, frankly, to _want_ Pete to stay there. He never wanted the guy to leave – who needed his crew? – his cock would find a happy home inside the other man for the rest of eternity.

Laying there, still dazed from both the fight and then the orgasm, Patrick didn’t realize that Pete had been jerking himself until something wet and warm hit Patrick’s face. He opened his mouth slightly to taste—fuck, that was good.

This couldn’t keep going. Patrick was going to have to retake the ship sooner or later.

He let Pete sit back and regain his own breath since it gave Patrick the chance to recharge for a couple minutes more.

After a moment, Patrick risked raising his head ever slightly just to see what Pete was doing. Pete was reaching for his own pants, distracted. As the other man stood and turned away, pulling back on the tight black pants of his zat-proof suit, Patrick looked away.

There—the zat! It was within arm’s reach.

It was a struggle to reach for the zat without alerting Pete, but he managed it. The guy didn’t even bother glancing back at Patrick on the floor before walking away. Ever rude for someone who just fucked him stupid.

Patrick raised his arm – god, that _hurt_ – and aimed the zat at Pete’s head where the suit couldn’t protect him.

Finger on the trigger and—

Down he went.

 _Finally_.

Pete collapsed on the floor. Patrick pulled himself up into a seated position, already out of breath by the time he sat upright, and looked at the unconscious man that lay before him. God, but Pete was so much more _innocent_ -looking when he wasn’t awake and smirking at Patrick. It almost caused Patrick to hesitate and second-guess his intentions – Pete _did_ say that he was on a rescue mission, what if it was a time sensitive one? – but quickly shook the thought. Pete stole his ship, took him hostage, and abandoned his crew—Patrick was not willing to forgive that so quickly, regardless of whether Pete was telling the truth.

When he finally managed to pull himself to his feet, he realized he probably wasn’t going to be able to pick up Pete.

Not yet, anyway.

But the guy needed to be locked up so that he couldn’t continue to distract Patrick – or worse – so he reached for Pete’s hands. If he blinked, he might not have noticed the tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of Pete’s suit. Grabbing onto the other man with both his hands, he dragged Pete off the bridge and all the way down the corridor, arms aching all the way.

Upon arriving at the ship’s brig, Patrick dragged the still-unconscious man into a cell and dropped his arms, caring only slightly that they hit the floor with a rough thudding sound. He bent over and let out a heavy breath. How the hell did some people do this everyday?

Good thing Patrick had about eight years of traipsing through the galaxy to give him a bit of a workout.

Once he felt like he was a _little_ closer to being himself again – at least, that he wouldn’t keel over at any moment – Patrick ducked out of the cell for just a moment to grab a flight. He needed to get Pete out of that zat-proof suit.

Undressing Pete, however, proved to be _quite_ the distraction.

The man was _covered_ in tattoos.

There were more than just the ones he glanced on the man’s wrists before. They were all over his arms in various designs, and even some on his torso. Patrick lightly traced the thorns around Pete’s collarbone, wondering if it meant something. Had Patrick been able to _see_ anything earlier, he’d have surely seen the bat-heart-skull thing while the other guy sat on his cock. Patrick was almost glad he hadn’t seen it—surely, he would have done something stupid like try to _lick_ it, and that would have given Pete a load of opportunities.

Heh. _Load_.

Patrick fought the urge to follow through on the same stupid thought at that moment and continued removing the other man’s clothing. Putting the flight suit on him turned out to be even more difficult. Tugging clothes off limbs was much easier than trying to maneuver those same limbs into holes and sleeves, and loathe as he was to admit, he didn’t actually _want_ to hurt Pete.

He also didn’t want to risk waking Pete up. How long he’d remain unconscious was a gamble, since Patrick didn’t know enough about Pete’s physiology.

Pete _looked_ human, but Patrick had met plenty of humans who were still a little different than the ones from Earth.

As soon as he got Pete all zipped up, Patrick gave a sigh of relief.

Fucking finally, he could _rest_.

He made sure to lock the cell behind him as he left Pete laying on the floor, taking the catsuit with him as he returned the bridge. The last thing he wanted was for Pete to find it and, truth be told, Patrick could potentially make some use of it. If necessary.

It didn’t take Patrick very long after returning to the bridge and checking the consoles to discover that he had no control over the ship’s…well, controls. Whatever destination Pete programmed for them was where they were going and that was that. This time when he sighed, it was not relief. That being said, Patrick certainly couldn’t help but feel thankful that at least _he_ was free this time and _Pete_ was…not bound, and technically not behind _bars_ , but at least no longer a threat.

For now, anyway. Who knew what Patrick would face when Prometheus finally reached her destination?

Patrick still had some doubts about the rescue mission story. Not that he knew Pete well enough to tell whether the guy was being truthful or not, but if there was anything he learned throughout his _adventures_ , it was not to trust people blindly.

The most innocent-looking person could be the deadliest.

And Pete looked far from innocent.

Despite that Pete was no longer a threat, Patrick couldn’t resist groaning when he noticed the man regaining consciousness on the security feed.

“Ow,” he heard Pete mutter. He watched as the man climbed to his feet and took in his surroundings, clearly recognizing that he was in some sort of prison. The Adonis then looked down at his clothes, noticing that his previous suit had been replaced with a flight suit, and gave an eye roll so exaggerated that Patrick could not have missed it. “Oh, that’s just great,” the guy on the screen commented to himself.

Patrick switched on the local communications and announced, “I see you.”

Pete noticed the camera in the corner of his cell and approached it. Patrick knew that Pete couldn’t see him, but waved nonetheless.

“Did you have fun taking off my clothes?”

There was a hint of something to his voice, and while Pete’s face certainly showed annoyance, Patrick felt that he wasn’t quite as irritated as he seemed. The undertone—Pete was flirting, even from his cell. Well, Patrick could play that game. “It was your idea,” he reminded the man.

“No, I meant when I was conscious, so I could, y’know, distract you and kick you in the head.”

“I kept my eyes closed the entire time,” Patrick told him.

 _Liar_.

Pete seemed to believe that as much as Patrick had meant it. “I’m sure you did.”

Patrick raised his hand in front of the feed on the screen of his console and pretended to squeeze Pete’s head with his fingers. Not that it would do anything productive for him, but it did make him feel a little better to imagine squashing the man’s head.

Just a little bit.

“So, where are we going?” he asked.

“I told you, to save my people,” Pete informed him, reminding him of his previous story. Maybe he was telling the truth. “Can you let me out now?”

“Oh, no.”

Pete sat on the toilet in the cell as a chair and whined. “You know, I haven’t eaten in days.”

Patrick didn’t even resist rolling his eyes this time. Gorgeous as he was, Pete was really trying his patience. “Can you tell me how to access the navigation controls?” he inquired, not exactly expecting a straight (or any) answer from the other man.

Sure enough, Pete continued his whining. “It isn’t very nice, you know—starving a prisoner to death. Come on, you’ve seen me naked. I made you come,” he pleaded. “The least you could do is cook me dinner.”

Again, Patrick rolled his eyes. However, he wasn’t made of stone and, honestly, he was also starting to feel a little hungry.

Grabbing the zat gun, he pushed himself out of the command chair and made his way down to the brig. Pete stood with a giant grin on his face when Patrick opened the door, but he did not grace the man with an audible response. All he did was grab Pete’s arm and begin dragging him toward the mess hall. If the entire crew was gone, then there wasn’t going to be anyone to prepare them any food, so Patrick hoped that there was something already servable – or, at the very least, edible – that they could pick through.

It dawned on Patrick as they reached the mess hall that any moment he spent eating gave Pete the advantage to take him by surprise, so maybe Patrick _would_ have to wait a while longer before eating. He instructed Pete to grab whatever he could find (and carry).

As soon as Pete was satisfied with all the _everything_ he had collected, Patrick led him to a private dining space with a long dining table in it.

Goddamn, this was actually going to feel like a date, wasn’t it?

The look on Pete’s face suggested that he thought the same thing, but clearly he had a different opinion about it than Patrick.

Patrick forced the man down roughly into a chair and then took the opposite seat, holding the zat gun up so that he could immediately incapacitate Pete should the guy try anything. Pete, to his credit, really _did_ seem hungry as he dug into the various food in front of him. It was a couple minutes before he looked up at Patrick and realized that his _date_ wasn’t eating anything. Patrick was a little surprised when an apple came rolling his way, if only because he expected Pete to throw it. There was nothing malicious on the other man’s face, either.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Pete asked.

“Nope,” Patrick responded simply, lying through his teeth and hoping his stomach remained silent and wouldn’t give him away.

Pete changed the subject. “Do you know the Tok’ra?”

“Yep.”

“Well,” Pete began, and Patrick could tell that a story was coming, “ten years ago, a Tok’ra incited a rebellion on my planet. When people rose up against the ruling Goa’uld, once the Jaffa had been overcome, that Goa’uld was captured alive, tortured, and beaten for days on end. I was host to that Goa’uld at the time.”

That actually sounded terrible and Patrick legitimately felt bad for Pete. He hadn’t a chance to say anything before Pete added, “The people didn’t understand that it was the _symbiote_ who had ruled over them so harshly.”

Patrick could imagine.

“But,” the man continued, “I guess the Tok’ra felt responsible.” Pete shrugged. “He rescued me, removed the symbiote, and nursed me back to health.”

“You said your people are in trouble now,” Patrick commented. Frankly, he couldn’t understand why Pete would want to rescue these people when they had treated him so terribly. Yet, at the same time, Patrick knew that he would feel guilty for the actions of the symbiote if it had been him in that situation, and…yeah, maybe he would also want to save them.

“Well, it was only a matter of time before the forces of another Goa’uld showed up. A system lord named Bryar.”

That was one Patrick knew.

Yikes.

“That’s when the Tok’ra disappeared. The people still refused to surrender. Bryar ordered that they be wiped out. We controlled several ships—troop transports, cargo ships, Al’kesh. Many people were saved, flown to a nearby moon in the system.” Pete took another bite before continuing. “The ships made several trips before most of them were intercepted and shot down. Bryar never knew there were any survivors, so we were safe, at least. Only problem was,” he added, “the moon didn’t have a stargate.”

“So, you were trapped,” Patrick deduced.

Pete nodded. “We only had a few ships left, not enough to relocate everyone again. It wasn’t a problem though, Bryar seemed to have little interest. We used to the ships to keep appraised of what was happening and to steal supplies and technology when we could.”

“You know that Bryar is gone now, right?” Patrick asked. “He was beaten by Beckett.”

“And Beckett’s forces are searching every inhabitable world in Bryar’s territory. His ships are everywhere, it’s only a matter of time until my people are found.”

“So, you got desperate and attempted to steal an Al’kesh.”

“It was damaged in the firefight. I was hoping one of my ships would answer my distress call,” Pete explained. “I’m sure you can imagine how lucky I felt when this ship showed up. It’s big enough to rescue all my people and take them to a world far away, free from the Goa’uld.”

Patrick wasn’t quite sure what to believe.

On one hand, the story was incredibly detailed and Pete _surely_ could not have made all that up right on the spot.

But on the other hand…

It didn’t seem as though Pete had any more to say, anyway. He continued to eat silently, so Patrick watched him in equal silence as he went over the story in his head, trying to make heads or tails of the situation. Patrick moved to stand behind Pete when it seemed like the man was close to finishing. As soon as the last item was gone from the table, Patrick grabbed his arm.

“You don’t have to lock me up,” the man insisted as Patrick dragged him back to the cell.

Patrick opened the door and shoved Pete inside. “Oh, I think I do.”

“What difference is it gonna make? This ship is automatically flying to my homeworld. You can’t stop it.”

“Well,” Patrick began, refusing to rise to the bait, “when you get to your planet, I’ll just explain the situation to your people. I’m sure we can work something out.”

“My people are not gonna trust you,” Pete insisted.

Patrick ignored him.

“You have to let me talk to them.”

“No.”

“Patrick, please—” Whatever Pete was going to say next was cut off when Patrick closed the door. He turned on his heel and returned to the bridge, just as it seemed the ship was dropping out of hyperspace and landing on the moon. Perfect timing.

A voice suddenly sounds from the communications system. “Pete, this is Gabe. We have you on our scanners.”

Patrick dashed over to the command chair and activated the comm. “Uh, yeah, hi,” he stuttered out. He must have sounded like an absolute mess, because the voice on the other end responded by asking, “Where’s Pete?”

“He’s here,” Patrick reassured the person. “He’s just indisposed at the moment.”

“He didn’t mention he was working with anyone.”

Well, fuck.

“No, I guess not,” Patrick said, thinking. “Look, I realize I owe you an explanation. It’s really kinda a long story—”

“We’ll hear it in person and inspect your vessel.”

Patrick supposed that was reasonable enough and nodded, despite that he knew the person on the other side couldn’t see him. “That’s good,” he confirmed, “because apparently we’re coming in for a landing.” The other person informed him that they would meet at the designated coordinates, so Patrick turned off the comm and looked for the armour Pete had taken off earlier. Although he wanted to believe Pete’s rescue story, it was better to be safe than sorry and ensure that he wasn’t shot dead on sight.

Stepping off the ship, Patrick was met by what appeared to be a man and a woman with stony, intimidating faces. “Hi guys!” Patrick announced, waving to them as he approached. He hoped he came across as friendly.

“Who are you?” the man – this must have been Gabe, Patrick recognized the voice – asked.

“Uh, name’s Olo,” he responded. “Hans Olo.”

It was the first thing that he could think of on the spot. Fucking sue him.

“Where’s Pete?”

“He’s inside,” Patrick told them. “I can fetch him after—”

“We will only do business with Pete!”

God, it fucking figured that Pete was lying and this wasn’t a rescue mission after all. “Business,” Patrick began, voicing as much with exasperation and disappointment marring his tone. “Yeah, that figures. I don’t look surprised, do I?”

The two stared at them with unreadable faces. Gabe’s expression remained neutral as he asked, “What?”

“It’s just that I was expecting some refugees in need of transport to another planet,” Patrick explained, realizing how stupid he sounded with every word. “Not that there’s anything wrong with you guys, that I know of.”

“We have the naquadah,” the woman said, opening the chest on the ground in front of them.

“Refined weapons grade,” Gabe added.

Patrick’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help but admit that he was tempted. They could seriously use some weapons grade naquadah back home, but not at the expense of Earth’s first battlecruiser—especially not when it was on a rescue mission to find the missing Atlantis expedition. As though he could read Patrick’s mind – and for all Patrick knew, he _could_ – Gabe insisted, “This is the price we agreed upon. This ship is impressive in size, but we can’t—”

“Okay, you know what? Uh, seriously, there’s been a big misunderstanding. I don’t care what you’ve got, I’m not gonna sell you the ship—”

Patrick was cut off when both Gabe and his accomplice drew their weapons. Patrick drew the zat gun in response.

“Okay, you know, that’s not necessary,” he told them a little nervously.

“We had a deal!” Gabe yelled, his face going from its terrifying neutrality to anger (equally as terrifying) in a split second. “We must have this ship!”

Suddenly, a blast hit the ground between them, coming from neither of their weapons. Patrick looked up as more blasts narrowly missed them, seeing the gliders flying around in the sky. Well, Pete was right about one thing: this area was clearly crawling with Goa’uld vessels. He could see several gliders and even a few Al’kesh up there.

“Goa’uld gliders! You were followed!” Gabe accused him.

Patrick was not fucking dealing with this. “Of course we were. Okay, you know what? I’d love to stay and chat, but—”

He hits the woman with the zat and she dropped to the ground immediately.

Gabe fired.

He thanked himself internally for thinking to don the armour – and Pete, for leaving it in the first place – as he turned and dashed back toward the ship. As he slid into the command chair on the bridge, he noted Pete on the security feed. “Pete!”

“Patrick?” the other man looked up at the camera. “What’s going on?”

“We’re being attacked by gliders! You have to tell me how to access the ship’s systems!”

“Let me out and I’ll help you.”

Was Pete seriously going to continue pulling this shit when they could both die any second? “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” he exclaimed.

Another blast hit the ship and Patrick saw something explode in a corner. He couldn’t raise the shields without access to the systems and he was becoming a little desperate—what harm would it be to free Pete in this instance? He ran down the corridor to the brig and opened the door as fast as he could. Pete stood as he had before, a large insincere grin on his face.

Patrick grabbed his arm and practically dragged him toward the bridge as he said, “Let’s go. No funny stuff.”

“What did you do with my buyers?”

They were not doing this now, _Patrick_ was not doing this now. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“And the naquadah?”

Pete stopped this time, clearly catching on that Patrick had not followed through on the deal with Gabe and the woman. Patrick tugged on his arm again and while Pete resisted at first, he continued as the scruffy man demanded, “Move!”

“Do you have any idea what that’s worth?”

Frankly, Patrick didn’t care. But, as Pete stopped again this time, Patrick realized he would have to take drastic measures. Hoping that his minimal upper body strength wouldn’t fail him, he reached down and grabbed Pete by the legs, hoisting the honey-eyed Adonis over his shoulder. Pete’s ass was _right there by his face_ —if he wanted, he could turn his head and bite it. Patrick was tempted, but the seriousness of the situation kept his mouth at bay as he ran to the bridge with Pete hanging off him.

He set Pete down right outside the bridge, and Pete jumped into action with him. They each took separate chairs and Pete began typing away. “Okay,” he finally told Patrick. “You can raise our shields.”

Patrick did so immediately.

 _Fuck yes_.

The two of them managed to get the ship off the planet, but the blasts didn’t stop. Pete was sitting at the hyperspace control console, so Patrick turned to him and anxiously yelled, “What are you waiting for? Let’s jump to hyperspace!”

“I can’t, it’s not working,” Pete told him, sounding equally as anxious. “We’ve taken too much damage.”

Motherfucker.

“But we have incoming Al’kesh,” Pete added. “Arm weapons.”

The Al’kesh added to the blasts that the ship was already taking from the gliders. Patrick could feel his heart rate rising as Pete noted, “Shields are failing.” It appeared as though the older man, behind his now very limp and sweaty bangs, was attempting to maintain his composure but was also failing—his voice was an octave higher than it had been before, and those beautiful honey-coloured eyes were alight with worry.

Patrick armed the weapons and targeted one of the gliders. He was almost relieved when he did, indeed, manage to take it out.

Almost.

Because then—

“Shields are down,” Pete said. “And we’re almost out of weapons.”

Fuck.

All of a sudden, Patrick saw a ship explode on the main viewscreen before them. Considering the situation they were in, that wouldn’t be surprising in most instances. However, it was a Goa’uld ship…and the only other ship around that _wasn’t_ Goa’uld was Prometheus.

Which meant—

“What happened?” Pete asked at the exact same time that Patrick burst out, “An Al’kesh just destroyed one of its own!”

The two men watched as the same Al’kesh took out another Goa’uld ship. Patrick couldn’t believe his eyes. It had to be a mistake—unless, of course, it was a rebel Jaffa taking the opportunity of Prometheus’ distraction to target their oppressor. There was also a third option, but Patrick didn’t think he was _that_ lucky. It couldn’t possibly be—

“Doctor Stump?” a familiar voice sounded over the comm. “This is General Hurley, do you copy?”

Oh, hell _yes_.

“General!” He must have sounded enthusiastic. “Good to hear your voice, sir.”

“Likewise. You alright?”

Patrick looked to Pete. The guy’s captivating eyes met Patrick’s and both smiled at one another, putting behind them all the events of the day (or days? Patrick wasn’t sure how long it had been) to revel in the fact that they made it—that, somehow, they were both alive.

Patrick said as much to the general. “We’re fine, sir.”

“Are we clear to ring aboard?”

“Stand by.”

He turned to Pete again. “Unlock the system,” he requested. Pete hesitated. Patrick couldn’t quite blame him, since the other man clearly understood that as soon as the crew returned, his freedom could come to an end. However, there was simply no time to go through another argument—with Pete or himself. “Those gliders likely retreated to a nearby mothership,” he reasoned. “We have to get out of here now. Unlock the system.”

Pete nodded reluctantly and typed away. Patrick got the notification on his screen that the system was open again.

“You’re all clear now, sir,” he told General Hurley through the comm.

“What are you gonna do with me?”

When he faced Pete again, he saw the exhaustion and weariness on the other man’s face. Yet, due to everything the guy had put him through, Patrick was finding it difficult to give into his sympathies. “I’m not sure,” he told the man honestly.

“Look, Patrick,” Pete began, “I want you to know that whatever happens, I—”

 _Thud_.

Pete’s gorgeous form lay unconscious where Patrick zatted him. He had seemed sincere, but Patrick had heard enough false sincerity from the man for hours—he wasn’t falling for it again. Rolling his eyes, he shook his head and listened for the sound of the ring transporter and the return of his crew.

He hadn’t lied to Pete.

He really did have no idea what they would do with him.

The ship would clearly not survive a trip to the Pegasus Galaxy and Atlantis in its damaged state, so Patrick resigned himself to a return trip to Earth.

It made the blow easier when General Hurley delivered it later. Though Patrick hadn’t gotten long to absorb the information when the alarms on the ship sounded and a voice over the comm notified the general – and by association, Patrick – that the prisoner had escaped. Not that it surprised Patrick in the least—Pete was nothing if not resourceful, and the crew certainly hadn’t the hours Patrick had with him to learn that.

Pete disappeared in the repaired Al’kesh. Patrick supposed he’d never see him again.

At least it was a good fuck.

But…

A little sliver of him couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he couldn’t have had another shot first, this time as an _active_ participant in the act.

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary of Terms in this fic from Stargate SG-1:
> 
> **[Goa'uld:](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Goa'uld)** symbiotic alien race that takes humans as hosts. Posed as gods for thousands of years and enslaved much of the galaxy as a result. More powerful Goa'ulds are system lords.
> 
>  **[Tok'ra:](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Tok'ra)** symbiotic alien race that shares the human body with their hosts. Broke free from the Goa'uld and rebelled against them.
> 
>  **[Jaffa:](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Jaffa)** humanoid aliens who served under the command of the Goa'uld but, throughout the course of the show, increasingly began to break free and formed their own rebellion.
> 
>  **[Zat'nik'tel or "zat gun":](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Zat'nik'tel)** a handheld weapon that can stun, kill, and even disintegrate its victims based on how many times the holder shoots it subsequently.
> 
>  **[Al'kesh:](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Al%27kesh)** a small Goa'uld bomber ship, shaped a little like a triangle.
> 
>  **[Kull:](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Kull)** a race of artificially created life forms to serve as an army for the Goa'uld Anubis. They wear full-body armour and do not appear human beneath it.
> 
>  **[Stargate:](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Stargate)** a large ring device that allows travel to other planets through a wormhole in space.
> 
>  **[Naquadah:](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Naquadah)** a rare mineral that can create powerful technology. It is best known as the material that makes up the stargates.
> 
> \---
> 
> Follow me on social media! I'm **padawanryan** on [Tumblr](https://padawanryan.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PadawanRyan), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/padawanryan/). ✌️


End file.
